


The Bar

by YlvaUllsdotter



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Drinking, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 22:43:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13258155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YlvaUllsdotter/pseuds/YlvaUllsdotter
Summary: When you run into a stranger in a bar, stuff happens.





	The Bar

**Author's Note:**

> Written for @a-winchester-fairytale’s Sitcom 2 Story Challenge on Tumblr. Prompt is in bold. I apologize for nothing.

I don’t normally go to bars, but for some reason I found myself at one this particular evening. It had been early still when I got there, so I managed to snag a table in a corner where I had a view of both the door and most of the bar. I sat there nursing my whiskey, watching the people as the place filled up, and contemplated my life choices. 

Soon enough the bar was crammed with people, all of them talking, laughing, drinking. A few approached my table, but one look at my scowl had them ducking their heads and turning elsewhere for a seat. I just really didn’t want any company. Or at least I thought I didn’t.

Every time the door opened, my eyes were drawn to it, studying the new arrivals, so I had noticed him as soon as he stepped in. The look on his face, even from across a crowded smoky bar room, told me this here was a man who had seen some serious crap. I pegged him at around my own age, taller than average, and more attractive to. My eyes followed him as he approached the counter, where I lost him in the throng of people. 

A little while later, as I was watching some college kids get hustled at pool, a shape in the corner of my eye made me turn my head. There he was, bottle of Jack in one hand, a tumbler in the other. He looked me straight in the eye, pulled out the only other chair at the table and took a seat. I barely registered it as he tipped the bottle, pouring the amber liquid into his own glass, then refilling my own. Even by the low light in my corner I could make out the greenest eyes I had ever seen. They were gorgeous. And so full of melancholy it felt like a punch to the gut. Without breaking eye contact, I picked up my glass and lifted it slightly toward him before taking a sip.

He returned my gesture and in one fluid move he downed his drink, slammed the glass back on the table and refilled it. Setting the bottle back on the table, he cradled the tumbler in one hand and looked up at me. 

“Dean”, he introduced himself laconically. I nodded and gave him my name, raising my glass slightly, “Thanks for the drink. You plan on drinking the rest of that bottle?”, I asked him, out of genuine curiosity. He took a sip from his glass, still looking at me with those mesmerizing eyes, and nodded. “That’s the plan”. 

“Care to share?”, I asked, not even sure myself if I meant the whiskey, or whatever was giving his eyes that heavy burdened look. He looked at me silently for far too long before replying with a short “Sure”. 

Emptying my glass, I stood up, grabbed the bottle and headed for the door, while asking myself what I was doing and why. The chilly air outside felt good after the crowded bar and I took a couple of deep breaths to clear my head. I heard boots crunching on the gravel of the parking lot and glanced over my shoulder to make sure it was him before heading across to the motel.

While I was getting the key out of my pocket, I noticed him eyeing my car, parked right outside my room. I unlocked the door, then leaned against it and nodded towards the car. “You like?”, I asked with a small smile. “Oh yeah. 1970 Chevrolet Chevelle SS, right?”, he said as he stepped closer and ran a hand over the metallic blue car. The light above the motel room door sparkled off the paint, casting fascinating shadows on his face. “Mhm, yeah. Was my dad’s. I customized it”, I replied. The snick from the door opening was almost loud in the night and his head turned toward me so fast I knew it was instinct. A small smile played over his full lips, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

He followed me inside, looking around with curiosity, although I noticed him taking stock of possible exits almost subconsciously. I set the bottle on the small table flanked by two very uncomfortable chairs and got a couple of disposable plastic cups. I poured for both of us before I sat down, nodding to the other chair. He studied me for a moment, his head cocked slightly to the side, his teeth worrying at his bottom lip, then sat down and grabbed the cup of whiskey. 

“Cheers”, he smiled slightly and downed his drink, refilling the cup immediately. “So”, he stated, his green eyes locking on mine. I took a sip of the whiskey, letting it slide over my tongue and down my throat, to land in my stomach as a ball of warmth, while I studied him. “Mm, yeah. So. You know cars”, I replied. 

The conversation went on for hours, we talked about cars, traveling, places we’d visited, places we wanted to visit, wishes, dreams, and on and on, until finally he started telling me about himself. I knew it was the whiskey, he was drunk enough to open up to a relative stranger met by chance in a crowded bar, but I still appreciated the trust. The things he told me, I knew I would never repeat to a single soul. 

When he stopped talking, the bottle was empty. He sat staring at the whiskey in his cup for a long while before downing it and giving a short laugh. I could hear the nervousness underneath though, so when he said he’d better go, I put my hand on his arm, looked into those green green eyes and asked him, “Stay”.

He looked down at his boots, then glanced up at me from beneath thick dark lashes.  **“If I stay, I might be tempted to do more than talk.”** , he said quietly. I stood up then, slid my hand along his arm to take his hand in mine and pulled him up to stand. I backed up, pulling him along, until I felt the bed against the back of my legs. Looking into his eyes I guided his hand to rest on my hip. We were so close, our lips were almost touching, I could smell the whiskey on our mingled breath.

“Then let’s not talk”, I whispered.


End file.
